


Lionheart

by Vividoll



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Multi, Petstuck, hh im so proud of this, suicide (mention)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vividoll/pseuds/Vividoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Lalonde, a budding writer, discovers a little troll rifling about in her bins and takes her in. (DISCLAIMER: this is not ufut/loophole canon even though its set in the same world)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Always look on the bright side

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unwanted Free Ugly Troll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/477092) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



The bustle of mothers and fathers unhooking their children from bookcases and general movement in the bookshop was definitely not what you were expecting. Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are a children’s writer, specializing in mythical creatures like dragons and chimeras. You are doing a book signing at the local bookshop where you live. You weren’t really expecting anyone to come; you were only there as the shop was brand new and you volunteered as a way to gain at least a little popularity. You’d have liked to write books with adult audiences, but you had tried that and it hadn’t necessarily worked out very well. Children’s stories seemed to be your forte anyway, the stories just came to you and suddenly you’d be typing, fingers flying over the keys on your old Mac, a wonderful and weirdly charismatic story appearing on the screen. Often you’d have to edit things to the discretion of your publisher, but that didn’t matter. Spiderweb Publishing was run very professionally, and took on new writers like you. The business must have done well through word-of-mouth and advertisement, because you found yourself sitting behind your little desk with a long line, reaching way past the door, of little children clamouring for you to sign their books. You had written a little series, A Child’s Guide to Mythical Monsters, which had three books to it. You were very proud of your books.  
Your small smile and kind purple – yes, purple - eyes, your dusty blonde hair and your black dress with a little white skull on it – the insignia of your series – gave you a very regal look. You were wearing dark violet lipstick today and looked somewhat gothic, but you had a wide, closed-mouthed smile for every child who shyly placed a print of your book in front of you for you to sign your name in curly looped letters. You would nod in a friendly manner to the guardians or guardian while making little games up for the boy or girl in front of you, sometimes pretending a dragon had crawled from the pages to greet them. This was met with big smiles which made you grin before the parents carefully unhooked their child from the imaginary world to carry on with the real one. If a child had been particularly good, you would reward them with a sweet or a lollipop – much to the dismay of parents who were most likely foreseeing the sugar-induced hyper-activeness that would occur later.  
You enjoyed that day and recounted happy memories as you drove home, your daydreaming stance dangerous as you only had half of your attention on the road. You liked to call yourself a nickname given by your mother. “You’re my little professional daydreamer,” she’d say. You missed your mother; you didn’t have a clue what had happened to her. She had been there one morning, and then just disappeared. Thinking of her made your eyes water a little bit as you carefully parked your dark purple Mini Cooper – affectionately named Mini Grape - in your usual space. Collecting your bag, you walked back to your flat in your soft black pumps, strange but comfortable footwear.  
A little tear trickled down your face as you pulled the key out of one of the many pockets on your bag and unlocked the door of your little flat. You lived on your own, which was how it had been for a long time now. You didn’t mind though; you found comfort in solitude. Obviously you went out and talked to your friends, you weren’t a complete vampire.  
You let the tears flow now as you kicked off your pumps, not really caring as you were the only one who lived here. You walked into your small kitchen, popping the kettle on and bustling about. Once you had finished making your tea – with three sugars, mind, you’d done well today even though you’d burnt your hand in the process – you set it down on a little table by your armchair and set about looking for your favourite movie, The Lion King. You don’t have a clue why you like it so much, you just do. You put the disc in and settled down, stuffing chocolates in your mouth like a sophisticated 19 year old lady would.

 

You woke up with a start, still on your couch with a tissue plastered to your face. You must have fallen asleep mid eye-wipe. You cast a sideways glance at your clock on the wall and then look at it full on, jumping up with a start as you notice it’s 9:02. You’re an hour and two minutes late for your day job at a local convenience shop.  
Oh God.  
Oh no.  
Your marketing manager isn’t going to be very impressed.  
You quickly change into your uniform and wash the makeup off of your face as the shop doesn’t allow employees to wear makeup even though the customers often have foundation so thick on that it’s like a paste more than a powder. Quickly grabbing your bag, you rushed out of your flat and hurried to the shop. You tried to think up a valid excuse for your lateness, but to no avail. You quickly walk in and instantly your manager Latula almost attacked you. Even though employees weren’t allowed to personalize their uniforms, Latula had many badges across her shirt with things like hand signs for peace and rocking out. One even said ‘Rad Girl’ on it. “Why are you late, RL? That’s not very rad of you, we needed your help a lot this morning,” she said in a somewhat unprofessional manner. “You know I’m going to have to start docking your pay if you can’t make it on time, Miss Latelonde.” She then snickered at her own joke. “High five!”  
You reluctantly high fived Latula so you didn’t annoy her any further. Luckily she hadn’t responded too harshly, she must be in a good mood.  
“Right, RL, get to work with Lily.”  
Lily was a light skinned, fair woman who you thought couldn’t be any younger than 25. The employees fondly nicknamed her Snowman because of how light her skin was. She had a short black pixie cut, and alarmingly green eyes. In the plain uniform you were required to wear, you didn’t look the height of fashion in any way. But Snowman looked like she could be a model in anything. She had the same regulation smile as she packed customers’ shopping for them, not really talking unless it was to ask if they wanted a Bag for Life.  
How ironic would it be if somebody ended up buying a Bag for Life then walked out of the shop and got hit by a car?  
Psh. Pretty ironic.  
You turned your head when a customer approached and smiled while packing their shopping, making small talk and generally being as pleasant as you could be, even though you hated this job with a passion. You needed it, though, as writing couldn’t fully support you as you weren’t too well known yet, despite the large queue at the book signing. You had to; somehow, get an idea for a new addition to A Child’s Guide to Mythical Monsters. As you went through the clearly scripted words, you tried to hurry along so your shift finished quicker. You wanted to get home and start writing. Maybe if you worked hard enough you could eventually make a name for yourself as a writer and break free from this prison. You awoke from a little daydream, noticing that there were no more customers left at your station, and 2 at Lily’s. She could probably handle the rest, so you decided to go and stock shelves or something. It was 2:42. An hour and a bit ‘til your shift ended. You audibly groaned as you shuffled around the aisles to see what needed restocking. This shop actually stocked your books which helped you through your job a bit. When they first got on the shelves you liked to pore through them, a weird feeling going through you as you saw your writing paired with beautiful images from one of the company’s many illustrators. The drawings weren’t exactly how you had imagined your creatures, but it made you happy to think they were so alive and vivid to somebody else too. You’d trace your fingers round the face of a fluffy chimera, and then have a little grin as it erupted into a ferocious growl on the next page. You felt like a little kid. That stopped when Latula caught you and gave you a good talking to; telling you that you were here to work, not daydream all through your shift. You gritted your teeth and smiled through all of this, but in your head you were thinking of a new monster to put in your book. A ferocious bespectacled ogre. Perfect.  
You guess you could be called childish for this, but it didn’t matter. Your books were made for children, anyway.  
As you passed the brightly coloured cardboard display with your books on them, you noticed there were hardly any left. That was a bit of a shock to you as the display was almost always full apart from the odd parent wanting to get a cheap present to fob their kid off with. You grinned. Your books were selling. Maybe you could dump this job sooner than you thought.


	2. Patter of paws

Pulling up to your usual parking space, you got out of your car, collecting your bags and kind of patting the roof of your car. “I might be able to get a paint job for you soon, Mini Grape,” You said affectionately. You’d stopped off at another convenience store to get some groceries. It was a thing you did purely to spite Latula. She was unnecessarily mean to a lot of the employees and sucked up to her manager, spitting wrongs at everyone when we were assessed. She did this to mask the fact that she was actually pretty poor at managing stuff and only got the job due to family being in good jobs and a big amount of sucking up. 

Taking your bags into to your door, you stopped quickly as you heard a rustle from the bins by the side of the flat. It was probably just a rat or a fox or something. Hearing the tip of a bin lid, you groaned. You dumped the groceries on the floor of the entry hall before closing the front door, locking it and putting the key it your pocket. You’d have to clean up the bins sometime and you didn’t want it dwelling on you while you were writing. It was getting a bit dark but you found comfort in the night. It was beautiful, and you loved stargazing. You poked your head around the corner, and groaned again. Rubbish was spilled everywhere. The person above you really seemed to like dumping half empty chinese takeaways in their bins. You settled down to rearrange your bins, deciding to leave the rest for whoever lived upstairs. As you kneeled down to pick up a lid, you froze. Your eyes met frightened, slitted olive green eyes. Suddenly you were a little bit afraid of the night. Your imagination brought up many things that this green eyed thing could be. A wolf ready to bite your face off; a tiger, a dragon. You then noticed the straggly, messy black curls, pinned back, grey-furred ears and little candy-corn horns. It was a troll. You slowly shuffled down onto your knees, reaching your hand out towards the little creature. It was on all fours (well, as on all fours as a bipedal creature can be) a scraggly black top – no, it wasn’t even a top, it was more like holey material – and its mouth was parted up at its cupid’s bow like a cat’s. It parted its jaws in a hiss, and you suddenly realised how beaten up and feral the poor thing looked. It – no, she – seemed like a cat in every way, the long tufted tail puffed out and raised so she looked bigger. You withdrew your hand. “It’s okay, darling. I won’t harm you.” You said. To get the words across, you stood up and backed away, putting your hands behind your back. You were pretty sure trolls spoke English, but this may not be a learned one. 

Your thought was proven wrong as the troll settled a bit, sitting down. She carried her left hand a bit strangely, leaning on her right side as she sat cross-legged. Her ears flicked warily, as if she didn’t know if she could trust you or not. Her tail was horribly mangled, you had noticed, twisted in ways that shouldn’t be possible. You kneeled down again and held the the back of your hand out for her to sniff. She slowly moved forward, her olive eyes locked with yours the whole time. You could probably get your hand bitten off at any moment, but you weren’t too fussed about that. You wanted to get this poor troll inside so you could patch her up. She limped over to you, her little nose sniffing your hand, testing you. She then butted the palm of your hand, and your fingers parted to make way for her horns. They looked like little cat ears. You carefully scratched her head, which lead to little chirps and purrs.  
Your heart was way beyond melted. It was a gas by now.

“Can I carry you, darling? Don’t worry, if I hurt you just tell me. I promise I will take care of you.” You said. Your voice was eloquent and somewhat deadpan, but it was filled with comfort. The little troll looked up at you, wondering if she could trust you. She nodded and held her arms out. You winced at how her left hand was so twisted. Carefully picking her up, you held her like a baby, supporting her back and head. You couldn’t really care less about how dirty your uniform was getting. Latula could go and fuck herself. You had your own problems now.

 

You had settled the little troll down on your couch with some blankets and some comforting words while you ran a bath for her. You put your elbow into the water to check it wasn’t too hot or too cold. You didn’t know the first thing about trolls except that they were exotic pets with different blood colours. You’d also heard that if they were lower down the blood spectrum, they had a higher body temperature. Luckily, the troll you had found seemed to have around the same body temperature as you. You’d decided that a bath was better than a shower, as she would have more privacy. You walked into the main room to see the little troll curled up on a pile of cushions with a blanket over her knees, playing with a crudely stitched black kitten doll. It was a tribute to your old cat, Jaspers. You hurried over to her, trying to take the plushy out of her hands. “Oh, please be careful love, that means a lot to me.” The quick action caused the troll to squeal, turning her face and covering herself with her paws as if she was bracing herself for a hit. A quick audible breath escaped your mouth and you quickly tried to comfort her. “It’s alright, sweetie! Don’t worry, I didn’t mean to alarm you!” 

Maybe now was the time let go of Jaspers. Of course he would always be with you in your heart, but the little she-troll needed him more. Speaking of her, she slowly moved her hands down from her face and sat up with a wince. “Auuhhhhhwww,” she hissed, little olive tears slipping out of her eyes. You sat the plushy back in the nook of her right arm, before looking at her left wrist. It was scratched up and badly scarred. How hadn’t you noticed that before? “Let’s take a look at that wrist, little one. You look and sound like you’re in a lot of pain.” You quickly took it in your hands, not realising that that probably hurt a lot, and the troll yowled before biting your hand. She instantly recoiled after doing so, leaving little drag marks after the bite. “Sorry!” she squealed, leaping out of your way and hiding up on the top of an old but beautiful wooden bookcase. She was flattened against the wall, staring down at you with fear in her eyes as you grabbed some tissues and wiped the blood off of your wrist and held it in place. “Really, it’s okay. It’s not the worst ca- bite I’ve had before.”

You had nearly said ‘cat bite.’ Jaspers used to playfully bite your hand when he was a kitten, but one day he shook his head while doing so and inflicted long scars on your hands. You sat down, deciding not to urge the little troll to come down from the bookcase. 

“Really?” The little troll said, carefully laying on the top of the bookcase, dangling her arms down now that she realised she wasn’t going to be hit. “Yes,” you said, getting another tissue to wipe the bite marks. You felt like weeping over the pain, but you held it in for the troll’s sake. “What’s your name, little one?” You said, wondering if she even had one. What on Earth had happened to her to make her so mangled and beaten up? Looking over the troll again, you noticed how young she was. She couldn’t have been more than a child. How could anyone do this to a child? She looked so fragile and war-weary. Her eyes had seen things she should never have seen. “Nepeta Leijon,” she said. Her voice was like a child’s, too, but it cracked in places, like she found it hard to speak. “Well, Nepeta, would you like a drink or something to eat?” She was so painfully thin. Like a skeleton. An overwhelming, motherly feeling bubbled inside you. Her eyes widened and she tipped her head, wondering if it was a cruel joke. “Really? Me eat?” she said, disbelieving. 

“Of course! What would you like?”

She blinked, unable to believe she was getting a choice. “Whatever mew have!” she said, before quickly correcting herself with a ‘you.’ You found that adorable. "Of course, Nepeta. I’ll be back in a minute.”  
As you walked out into the kitchen, you suddenly realised you’d forgotten all about the bath. Well, that’s an addition to your bill.


	3. Discontinued

I've decided to discontinue this story because I've sort of become really discouraged and i've been getting seriously ill lately!  
I'm still writing, but not that much  
Sorry for not updating for a while but I just can't really find inspiration for this story and thinking about it just makes me really stupidly upset  
So eh

goodbye and sorry again - Vivi


End file.
